


Worn Leather

by kueble



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Belts, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 12:47:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29046381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kueble/pseuds/kueble
Summary: Geralt has been acting up all day and it's up to Jaskier to show him who is in charge.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 7
Kudos: 96





	Worn Leather

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: for some reason I feel like I’m always giving you prompts so feel free to ignore this one unless it inspires!! but I’d enjoy something spicy involving belts and/or spanking, Geralt with partner of your choice!

Jaskier holds the door to their room open, gesturing for Geralt to step inside. The witcher is moving slowly, clearly aware of exactly how unacceptable his behavior downstairs had been. He’s been off all day, acting out and begging for attention. Jaskier knows this, but that doesn’t make it any better. He shuts the door behind him - blocking out the chaotic noise from the tavern downstairs - and leans back against it, crossing his arms over his chest. He offers Geralt a stern look, huffing when he just ducks his head and studies his boots.

“So that’s how we’re doing this, then?” Jaskier scoffs. He doesn’t move, waits for Geralt to acknowledge him, but nothing happens. After another long moment he adds, “Care to indulge me? Confirm you know you’ve been misbehaving all day long?”

“I know,” Geralt mumbles, still not looking up.

“Eyes on me,” Jaskier says, his words clipped and harsh. Geralt finally moves, raising his head and meeting Jaskier’s eyes. He looks slightly distressed, which is good, because he’s been a bad, bad boy.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt offers, which simply isn’t going to cover it.

“We have certain ground rules,” Jaskier reminds him slowly, “Rules that we debated and agreed to. You have my full attention when it’s warranted, but I need you to play nice and let me have time when I need it. Did you need me when we were in the market? Perhaps you thought I couldn’t handle my own negotiations? Do you think that poorly of me?”

“No.”

“No?” Jaskier asks pointedly, raising an eyebrow at him.

“No, Sir,” Geralt growls out, his voice already deeper and more gravelly than normal. Jaskier smirks at the tone and continues.

“And what of downstairs? When I’m entertaining - earning the very coin that granted us this lovely room for the night - are you supposed to watch silently from your table? Or are you supposed to be a menace and vaguely threaten everyone who makes a move on me?” Jaskier asks, laughing a bit. He’s normally all about the possessiveness his witcher shows, but not when they’ve agreed to play like this, not when he’s supposed to be in charge.

“She had her hands all over you!” Geralt argues back, and Jaskier just _tsks_ his tongue at him.

“And is that your problem? Or am I fully capable of turning down an offer for company because I’ve got a better one in mind?” he trails off, offering a smug smile when Geralt just shakes his head and avoids his eyes again. “I think you’re just itching for some attention, and I am fully prepared to give it to you. On my time. Which happens to be right now and not earlier. Strip for me. Armor by your bag and everything else folded neatly on that chair. Hand over your belt.”

“My belt?” Geralt asks, eyes wide as he starts to undress.

“Your belt,” Jaskier confirms with a sharp nod. He holds out his hand and Geralt scurries over to place the thin leather belt in his grip.

“We’ve uh, we never before,” Geralt mumbles, flushing as Jaskier grins at him.

“Your word?”

“Leshen,” Geralt spits out quickly.

“And do you wish to use it?” Jaskier asks, even though he damn well knows the answer, can tell by the way Geralt is practically shaking as he folds his clothing.

“No, Sir,” he says, swallowing thickly.

“Good,” Jaskier says, offering him a warm smile before schooling his face and gesturing towards the bed. “Face down, chest on the bed, feet on the floor.”

It only takes seconds for him to drop into position, automatically crossing his wrists on the bed as he stretches his arms forward. Jaskier moves away from the door, shrugging out of his unbuttoned doublet as he slowly crosses the room. He tosses it over the back of a chair and then toes out of his boots. The whole time, Geralt is silent, holding his pose so nicely for him. Jaskier loves him like this, stretched out and compliant. He finally gets to the bed and reaches out to caress the small of Geralt’s back, trails his hand lower to cup the curve of his butt cheek. Geralt lets out a low moan before biting it back.

“Noise is ok tonight,” Jaskier tells him, “I want to hear you enjoying your punishment. Since we’ve never done this, I’m not going to specify a number. I’ll know when you’ve had your fill, but I’m not sure how much you can take without simply going for it. Still good, love?”

“Yes, Sir,” Geralt rushes out, anticipation coming off of him in thick waves. Jaskier brushes his knuckles against the dimples on his lower back and Geralt whimpers, leaning into the soft touch. He steps back for a moment and just looks at him. He loves when Geralt lets them play like this. He’s so pliant, so eager for whatever Jaskier wants to give him, whatever he decides Geralt deserves. He looks perfect here, body draped over the bed and muscles stretched tight.

Jaskier turns the belt in his hands, folding it in half to make a decent loop. He grips the soft leather in his right hand and smacks it on his other palm, testing the sting of it. He lets out a pleased hum before taking the curve of the belt and running is down the back of Geralt’s thighs. His witcher shivers and tries to push into the touch, but Jaskier moves it away. No need for him to get overly used to it.

“So pretty for me,” Jaskier tells him. “Though no doubt you’ll be prettier when your skin is all nice and red for me.”

That’s the only warning he gives, just brings the belt down across Geralt’s ass. The crack of leather against skin echoes in the room, and Geralt lets out a beautiful moan. There’s a bright pink line where belt met skin, and Jaskier longs to bend down and lick the length of it. But this is about punishment, so he pushes aside that need for the moment.

The next few smacks are a little rougher, one falling on each cheek. Geralt clenches his muscles, back and thighs going taut while Jaskier watches his struggle not to squirm. He looks so indecent it should be a crime. Jaskier can’t afford to lose himself in it, though, has to keep himself in check so they both stay safe. He brings the belt down again, this time hitting the soft skin of Geralt’s thighs. 

“Fuck!” Geralt cries out, bucking into the mattress in an effort to move away from the hits. He doesn’t use his word though, so Jaskier just runs a hand over the growing welts to soothe him. The next few hits catch him on the ass, alternating cheeks and intensity. By the time he stills, Geralt is moaning steadily and grinding into the bed. He turns his face to the side and Jaskier can see that his eyes are watering and he’s bitten his lips nearly bloody.

He’s so fucking _gorgeous_ for Jaskier.

“I think you can handle a couple more, but then we’ll be done for now. You’re taking this so well, darling,” Jaskier praises him, letting the words soak in before bringing the belt down twice more. Geralt sags down, tension flooding out of him once Jaskier stops. He’s not crying, but his eyes are full of unshed tears, his lashes dark and damp against his cheeks.

Jaskier drops the belt to the floor and then kneels down, pressing his lips to the heated skin of Geralt’s ass and thighs. He presses into it, chasing Jaskier’s mouth as he covers him in soft kisses. He gently runs his hands over the abused flesh, loving the way Geralt whines and shivers so stunningly for him.

“I need you to be honest for me dear, can you do that?” Jaskier asks before darting out his tongue to lap at the pink skin.

“Yes, Sir!”

“Are you too sore for me to fuck you? Because I think you’ve redeemed yourself tonight and you deserve my cock if you think you’re up for it,” Jaskier says between kisses. He probably shouldn’t be so distracting, but Geralt just looks so _good_ covered in his marks. He could get lost in him for hours on end.

“Please. I’m good. So good, Sir,” Geralt pleads, his voice cracking over the words.

“Thank you for being honest,” Jaskier says with a nod. He presses one last kiss to each cheek and then stands up, going to the vial of oil he left on the bedside table. “Up on the bed. I want to watch you prepare yourself for me,” he orders and Geralt scrambles to comply. He looks a bit unsure of how he should lay, but ends up on his side with one foot flat on the covers, exposing himself perfectly. Jaskier hums in appreciation and hands over the oil.

He steps back and starts to undress, watching hungrily as Geralt uncorks the oil and coats his fingers. Jaskier knows he’s not the one putting on a show, but he still takes his time stripping, loves the way Geralt can’t tear his eyes away from him even as he sinks a finger inside himself. He chews at his lower lip and works himself open. Jaskier steps out of his trousers and smalls, smirking when Geralt groans and speeds up his fingers.

“Doesn’t take much these days, does it? You’re always half ready for my cock,” Jaskier says, grinning when Geralt whimpers and adds another finger. He lazily pumps his prick, content to enjoy the show for a moment. 

When Geralt is riding his own fingers, body shaking as he works himself open, Jaskier decides he’s ready. He takes the oil back and quickly coats himself before climbing onto the bed and grabbing Geralt’s wrist to pull his fingers out. He groans when he’s empty, eyes begging silently as he looks up at Jaskier.

“I always give you what you need,” Jaskier points out, smiling when Geralt nods quickly in agreement. “Hands and knees,” he orders, already helping Geralt roll over. He kneels behind him and gasps at how gorgeous he looks. His skin is a soft pink, brighter red stripes littered across his lower body from where the belt fell. It’s impossible to resist tracing his fingers down a few of the lines, breath catching in his chest when Geralt moans and backs into his caress.

He pats the insides of Geralt’s thighs and his lover spreads them wider. Jaskier lines up and slowly slides inside, a loud groan ripped from him as he fills Geralt’s tight heat. He feels amazing, slick and hot and so, so ready for him. He gives him a second to adjust, but Geralt tries to push back and tries to fuck himself.

Jaskier slaps him hard, his butt cheek bouncing under the force of it.

“My pace or we stop,” Jaskier reminds him, and Geralt nods frantically, his body stilling as he struggles to comply. “Good boy,” Jaskier croons, smirking when Geralt melts under the praise. He pulls back and then slams into him, grunting as they rock together.

It’s not going to last long, they’re both too built up from their play with the belt. Jaskier digs his fingers into Geralt’s hips, knows the bruises will be gone by morning’s light, but needs to see them now. He fucks him hard, pounding into him relentlessly as Geralt whines and pushes back against him. Geralt leans on one hand and makes to reach down and get a hand on himself, but Jaskier stops him with a growl and another quick slap.

“You come on my cock or not at all,” Jaskier pants out as he rolls his hips, drawing a loud whimper out of Geralt. He nods and drops his head to the bed, arms and thighs shaking as Jaskier fucks him roughly. He’s moaning like an expensive whore, like his body is made to be plowed like this, was made for Jaskier’s thick cock. Jaskier’s never heard someone sound so gods damn good, can’t get enough of his cries as he’s taken apart one thrust at a time.

Jaskier palms Geralt’s sore cheeks, can’t help bringing his hand down with one last hard slap. Geralt shouts his name and comes, body clenching around Jaskier as he spills onto the bed. Jaskier’s hips stutter, his rhythm lost as he chases his own climax. He leans down and sinks his teeth into Geralt’s shoulder, biting down hard as he empties inside of him.

They collapse together, limbs tangled as Jaskier tries to keep them out of the mess they just made. He’s about to pull out, but Geralt reaches down and stops him with a soft, “Stay please. Just for a bit longer.” And who could resist that? He holds Geralt against him, smoothing his hands over his chest, grounding him with touch as they lay there in the dark.

After a while Geralt sighs and Jaskier knows he’s good to pull out. He can’t help looking down, watching his seed trickle out of Geralt’s well-used hole. “Fuck I love you,” he says with a breathy laugh. Geralt chuckles and leans back against him. They’re filthy and exhausted, and Jaskier knows they should clean up but he just doesn’t have it in him to move right now.

“You know this really did nothing to persuade me to behave,” Geralt says after a while, laughing softly.

“Well aware, my dear, but what fun would that be anyway?” He questions before forcing himself out of the bed. He motions for Geralt to stay and walks over to the pitcher and basin on their table. He fills a cup with water and dunks a cloth into the basin, wringing it a little before returning to the bed. He hands over the cup and Geralt chugs it quickly, earning another, “good boy,” and a smile as Jaskier wipes him clean. He tosses the cloth on the floor to be dealt with in the morning and sets the empty cup on the bedside table before crawling back into bed.

“Do you want a salve?” he asks.

“Not this time,” Geralt answers with a small smile. “I want to feel this for as long as I can.”

“You’re so good for me. I love seeing you carry my marks,” Jaskier tells him before throwing an arm over his hips. Geralt shifts back against him and sighs happily.

Jaskier pulls Geralt closer and buries his face in the back of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of leather and sweat. He doesn’t need absolute obedience. He needs this: his good boy all warm and willing and so eager to please. He presses one more lazy kiss against the nape of Geralt’s neck and lets himself drift off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [Tumblr](https://kueble.tumblr.com/).


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